


Returning the Favor

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they resume their journey to the Lonely Mountain, the company of Thorin Oakenshield takes refuge by a river. Bilbo steals away to care for a wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning the Favor

Despite barely escaping the confrontation with the Defiler with their entire group intact, it seemed that the company of Thorin Oakenshield was in as good of spirits as they could be. The heartfelt apology between Thorin and Bilbo seemed to air away a tension in the group, the brunt of which Bilbo had borne on his shoulders. At least, Bilbo liked to think it was heartfelt. When Thorin had embraced him it had all seemed…unreal. Bofur— bless his dear heart— had gone out of his way to Bilbo feel welcome, so the hobbit thought, but now it seemed even the gruffest of the company gave him a pat on the back or the head.

It in one such show of affection that Bilbo realized his confrontation with the orc had been stupider than he realized. Fili and Kili had been shoving at each other, playfully recounting the battle.

“—And then Bilbo to the rescue, aye Master Baggins?” called Kili, thumping the hobbit on the shoulder. Sure the treatment was a little rough, Bilbo had noticed that, but this time Bilbo felt a wet tearing sensation as his coat slipped along his shoulder. Though he visibly winced, he quickly recovered.

“Oh now, it was nothing you all wouldn’t have done.” He stammered breathlessly. Dori eyed him.

“Ye alright lad?” he asked under his breath. Bilbo nodded quickly—- too quickly. As luck would have it, Thorin stopped the company. Without the heavy shuffle of their boots to dull his hearing (the pain along his back was doing plenty for that), Bilbo could hear the vague whisper of water in the distance.

“We’ll rest here tonight. The river isn’t far off. We can fill the canteens; gather what provisions we can find to fill the packs before we reach the Wood.” The company huddled to a stop and Bilbo quickly stole away to the river.

He shrugged out of his coat, whimpering slightly as the same stinging, tearing feeling assaulted his back. The coat’s lining came away stained with blood. Bilbo blanched and stumbled for the river, muttering “oh dear,” to himself the whole way. After a good moment’s fretting, as hobbits are wont to do, Bilbo concluded that if it only stung and didn’t greatly pain him the wound must be small and could in no way be terribly severe. The best thing to do was just to bathe and relax.

Pulling off his clothing proved to be a laborious process, and when Bilbo had finally stripped to his underthings he felt as if he was peeling the cloth from his skin. Each layer came away darker and darker in crimson, so that the hobbit truly began to feel a little ill.

All the same, the glittering of the water in the sunlight called to him, beckoned his tired legs, his aching wound, and his dirt-drenched skin. The first feel of the water rushing against his legs made him sigh with relief. It was cool and soothing and bless it so it was clean. Bilbo ducked his head under the water, letting it pull the dirt from his curls. When he surfaced again, a familiar but unexpected voice greeted him.

“You’re wounde—‘

Thorin’s observation was cut off by Bilbo’s surprised yelp. The quiet churning of the river had masked Thorin’s approach and Bilbo certainly hadn’t noticed the dwarf king wading up behind him. The hobbit turned as quickly as he could, though he knew it was too late to mask the wound from Thorin’s sight. Bilbo cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a moment to try and gather his words.

“It’s ah…j-just. It’s just a small cut. It doesn’t really even sting that much.” Bilbo tried to assure him, a shaky smile present on his face. Thorin didn’t seem convinced, his cunning eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I just thought I’d clean it off while we were resting.”

Thorin raised a cloth from the water. “I thought the same of my own wounds.” That accounted for his presence in the river. Bilbo looked to him quizzically.

“But I thought Gandalf healed you?”

Chuckling wryly Thorin turned and raised his sword arm. “He did what he could.”

“Oh my stars!” Bilbo exclaimed once his modesty finally allowed him to examine the wounds at Thorin’s ribs. The dark, thick hair on his chest masked the wounds there, but from the side they were grotesquely apparent. It was as if the wounds had healed, but only a few days into the future. The punctures from the warg’s teeth were scabbed, but still looked angry and around them blossomed purple-black bruises. “Is…is anything broken?” He asked quietly, reaching out despite himself to let his fingers examine Thorin’s ribs.

The dwarf did not wince as Bilbo’s careful fingers explored, if only for a moment. Bilbo’s ears turned a little pink at his boldness, but Thorin did not protest. “No, miraculously.” He finally responded. “But the lesions could use a wash.” Thorin reached out and took Bilbo gently by the elbow, turning the confused hobbit so that his back faced his own broad chest. “Just as yours could.”

“Really it’s not necessary, I can take care of it.” Bilbo protested, but Thorin leveled him with a look that made him sheepishly turn and accept the offer. “I didn’t want to be any trouble.” Bilbo explained quietly. The last thing he had wanted was to have Thorin fuss over him, and even the gentle scraping of the cloth against his back made him cringe.

“It’s the least I can offer you.” Thorin mused his rough palm smoothing the dried blood away from Bilbo’s skin. “And you may return the favor, if it fusses you so.” Bilbo wilted slightly.

“It doesn’t I’m just tryi—Nevermind.” Bilbo grumbled. “Thank you, Thorin.”

Thorin hummed thoughtfully. Bilbo’s wound, now clean, looked like much less of an ordeal than he’d originally assumed, but the dwarf still counted it lucky he’d also chosen to bathe in the river. “It won’t need souchers, but Oin will bind it for you.” Bilbo turned and ran his hand nervously over the damp curls at his ear.

“You should tell me when you’re wounded. This could have gotten infection. We couldn’t do with a sickened burglar.” Thorin admonished, washing the last of the blood off the cloth in the river. Bilbo was surprised how much of the water was stained red. When he looked back to Thorin’s face, he finally noticed.

“Your hair…”

“I thought I’d wash that too.”

Unlike some of the other dwarves, Thorin generally kept his hair mostly out of braids. Though now that Bilbo saw him with them all out, he could see how intricate and subtle the work put in to his hair was, and how much of a mane the king really had. The hobbit blinked as he thought to himself (and not for the first time about the king) that it was beautiful.

As a hobbit, Bilbo was practiced in beautiful things. Things like flowers, sunrises, and lovely china. Since meeting the dwarves though, Bilbo’s concepts had changed. The dwarves had a beauty about them, and not just in the things they made. It was smoke and leather and iron. It was a beauty of strength, not delicacy.

“Is there something wrong?”

Bilbo choked and quickly shook his head. “No! I…H-here.” He held out his hand for the cloth, which Thorin handed to him from its spot on his shoulder. His movements were slow and he watched Bilbo with the tick of a smile on his face.

Hesitantly Bilbo approached Thorin, a fluttering in his stomach that was at once warming and uncomfortable. In an awkward moment, Thorin lifted his arm, unsure of where to put it. Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle as he pressed the cloth gently to Thorin’s bruises, wiping away the grime and dried blood. The levity helped Thorin settle, and he rested his hand behind his neck. 

The feeling in his chest letting his fingers run over the dwarf’s skin gave Bilbo some pause. He didn’t feel inappropriate, but he did catch himself exceedingly fascinated by the way the water made Thorin’s skin shine. Hobbits were notoriously soft about the middle, but Thorin seemed as perfectly forged as any dwarfish blade. He found his eyes continuously drawn to the dark line of hair that split Thorin’s belly and dipped into the water. The hobbit had to consistently remind himself to avert his eyes to the wash cloth instead.

Though Bilbo was shy at first, he quickly found himself lost in the work because Thorin was absolutely filthy. Sticking his tongue between his teeth, Bilbo reminded himself to be gentle at the wounded areas. Come to think of it, Bilbo couldn’t really remember the last time they’d bathed. He shuddered to think of it and scrubbed at a spot of grime on Thorin’s hip. What happened next made Bilbo suddenly stop.

Thorin laughed.

It might have been a giggle were his voice not so naturally dark. Thorin reached down and gently took Bilbo away by the wrist.

“You did that on purpose.” Thorin accused, the smile still lingering at the corner of his lips.

Bilbo scoffed. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.” He grumbled, suddenly a little warm. He hadn’t realized how close he’d had his face to Thorin’s skin. Leave it to a hobbit to be so invested in another’s cleanliness.

“Not ticklish.” Thorin explained after a moment, his grip still loose on Bilbo’s arm. The king had watched the hobbit’s gaze, and done some gazing of his own. If he was honest with himself, Thorin knew it was not only a desire to wash that brought him down to the river. Despite himself, he could not let Bilbo go.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo murmured, reaching up with his free hand to pull away a wet strand of Thorin’s hair from his face. Really though, Bilbo was not sorry. And he wasn’t sure if Thorin leaned down or if he pulled him down by those unruly hairs, but Bilbo was certainly not sorry when their lips met.

It was not a forceful kiss or a needy one, but a gentle, curious kiss. It was nothing like Thorin had felt before, and was not unlike the whisper of the river water. He wanted more, but feared driving the shy Bilbo away. It would have shocked him to know Bilbo felt the same.

So when the hobbit pulled away, breaking their kiss, and saw that he was met with a scowl, it was natural he blushed darkly and assumed the worst. “I’m sorry I…I got carried away.”

“Again.” Thorin murmured, his hand moving from Bilbo’s wrist to his elbow, drawing him close. The water lapped and rippled around them, encouraging their embrace. “Please.”

The ‘please’ startled Bilbo, and also stoked something in him. Thorin asked him. Thorin wanted him. With more insistence than the last, Bilbo raised his mouth to Thorin’s. Thorin was surprised at the hobbit’s claim, Bilbo’s short fingers tangling quickly in Thorin’s still-wet hair, but couldn’t tell himself he didn’t want it. He let the Halfling take the lead, curious as to where it might lead them and grateful enough for his previous show of bravery to encourage this one.

Bilbo’s stomach fluttered when he heard that little laugh for a second time. When he opened his eyes, breathless from his needy kiss, he realized why. Thorin had stooped down at an awkward angle to relieve the pressure on his scalp when Bilbo had pulled his hair. “Eager, master hobbit?”

Sheepish, Bilbo pressed his forehead to Thorin’s, murmuring against his mouth. “It’s not every day a king asks me please.” He explained, licking his lips for the last trace of Thorin’s taste. The dwarf smiled, wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s waist (carefully avoiding his wound).

“Then please continue.”

Bilbo didn’t need much more cajoling. The brief taste of Thorin’s skin he’d had while washing his side had left him wanting more and the gentle brush of lips would not satisfy him. Bilbo crashed their mouths together, experimenting with a kind of boldness he hadn’t had since he’d rolled in the grass as a young hobbit. He felt a clack of teeth, which was a bit unpleasant, but soon he felt the thrill in his spine as Thorin’s lips yielded to his, allowing his tongue to explore.

Thorin’s whiskers tickled, but they didn’t scrape him unpleasantly and the hobbit wondered what they might feel like tickling elsewhere. As he let his mind wander, so did his hands. His fingers dragged gently through the fur over Thorin’s chest, feeling the strong thrum of his heart as he guided the king backwards towards the shore.

He nearly fell back as his heels bumped to the sand bar, surprised at the hobbit’s soft, eager hands. It was not like the feeling of a worker’s hands—strong and sure—but rather like the caress of dawn on the mountain side. Gentle and sweet and suddenly warm.

Suddenly very warm.

Thorin felt his blood stir at the hobbit’s gentle hands as they brushed against his skin and through his hair. When he finally had to stop moving backwards, Bilbo did not stop moving forward. The hobbit had had it of stepping back. Though his touch was soft, his movements were purposeful, and he only hesitated for a moment before pressing his chest to Thorin’s, fitting flush against him.

Bilbo was surprised at the insistent pressure of Thorin’s swelling cock at his hip and broke the passionate kissing to blink at Thorin, a blush creeping to his cheeks. “S-sit down?” Bilbo stammered, his fingers coiling against Thorin’s abdomen.

He didn’t argue but instead situated himself on the smooth sand of the river’s bank, guiding Bilbo to him by his wrist. He settled between Thorin’s hips, shivering as they brushed his own, his own erection twitching at contact with Thorin’s. “Thorin I-…It’s b-been some time and I-i-…I don’t thin—“

The dwarf put his fingers to Bilbo’s lips, stopping the babbling that was shooting forth. “We’re both wounded.” He drawled, his voice low with a need for release. “I trust you to consider that.”

“It’s just…it’s not that I don’t-t…that I don’t want—Um. This.” Bilbo’s hands ran over Thorin’s strong thighs and he swallowed down a lump rising in his throat. “You. I mean. I just…” Bilbo’s trembling gaze found Thorin’s steady one and he sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He laughed nervously. “Or…or myself. Anymore.”

Leaning up, bracing his elbows in the sand, Thorin pressed encouraging kisses under Bilbo’s jaw. “Think on that later….” Thorin murmured, needy. “I’ve been treated much worse.”

Bilbo made a little mewling sound in his throat, and damned waiting. He wrapped his pudgy fingers around Thorin, finding the pressure that made the dwarf’s eyes flutter closed. As Bilbo slowly began to work his hand over him, Thorin let out a shaking sigh. He had scarcely been touched, even by his own hand, since the journey started. Combined with the frustration he felt having Bilbo so close, he was putty in a matter of moments.

The hobbit was fascinated as Thorin broke down, letting go of the stony façade he kept up so often. His fingers left little ditches in the sand as his breath came in encouraging, shaky gasps. Occasionally he would murmur in the strange, angry tongue of the dwarfs in such a way that his pleas sounded little more than a dog’s growls. Bilbo watched his face closely, awed by the display. He groaned in protest when Bilbo’s hand left him and opened his eyes, only to see the burglar shuffling to straddle his thighs.

Before he could ask what he was doing, Thorin felt Bilbo’s hand close over the head of his cock along with a new sensation. Bilbo had wound his hips so that their length’s brushed together, and when he closed his hand over both of them Thorin shivered. He could feel Bilbo’s slick head pressed to his as Bilbo worked both of them together, biting his lip so hard it turned an angry read. The hobbit bucked against him, whimpering again in the pit of his throat. “Thor-rin, s-say—-“ He could not choke out the rest of the sentence before his lust addled mind lost the ability. Thorin hardly heard him anyway, lost in the friction and heat.

“H—Bilbo.” Thorin breathed, drawing the small hobbit against him. He played into Bilbo’s movements, bucking into his hand until their hips clacked and the burglar held him down. “N-not yet.” Bilbo instructed, his voice tight and airy. “So…close.” He seemed to be talking more to himself, but he watched Thorin with a studious intent.

Though he gritted his teeth against it, he could wait no longer. Thorin spilled over Bilbo’s hand, leaving a sticky mess between his fingers and over his abdomen. As Thorin’s body rode out his climax, he moaned low in his throat and Bilbo lost his control, finishing only shortly after Thorin.

Spent, Bilbo leaned against Thorin with a shudder and kissed the dwarf’s temple. He shuffled to lay next to him and rested his head near Thorin’s steadying heartbeat. There, nestled against his chest, Bilbo had all but forgotten the slash in his back. That was until his rolled onto it and yelped. Thorin shot up, worry in his eyes, until Bilbo fell into chuckles.

“Perhaps we should back to camp, so Oin can take care of us?” Bilbo offered now that sand was in his cut. Thorin brushed a curl of Bilbo’s hair behind his ear and nodded.

None of the company asked what took their bath so very long.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for the awesome tumblr user ladynorthstar, and was originally posted to my tumblr which now no longer exists ^_^. I was actually telling her that Thorin is actually my ~*~ultimate top~*~ and we had a very interesting, brief discussion about hobbit sexcannons. Anyway, this is for her because she’s great and damn can she draw some hot , pointlessly naked dwarfs.


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